


Post-Apocalyptum: here comes the sun again. Well, sort of

by VereorInHell



Category: Angel: The Series (Comics), Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Andrew fangirls over Spike, Angel and Spike save the day, Angel x Spike, Apocalypse, Apocalypses are tough, Blood Drinking, Buffy and the dough, Buffy friendzoning her vampires, Bye bye WRA, Gay Sex, Gee the bed, Good Illyria, Lorne knows, Lorne makes amazing cocktail, M/M, Minor Character Death, Overprotective Andrew, Sassy Spike, Sassy angel, Saving the World, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Standing Up, Sex in the Street, Spike is too cool for this world, Spike likes it rough, Team fangs, Technically it's an alley, The Dragon - Freeform, The powers that be are assholes, Well technically it's vampire sex, god save the queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 05:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18631858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VereorInHell/pseuds/VereorInHell
Summary: Wolfram&Hart VS: the two most badass/kickass vampires we know and love. Spoiler on the result: WRH goes down, and not in the nice way! Spike and Angel survive the mess and have to sort their lives out.





	Post-Apocalyptum: here comes the sun again. Well, sort of

**Author's Note:**

> I can't live with that open finale, so here's my version for the after!  
> I wish I'd managed to give Spike's wit and sarcasm justice, but alas... anyway!

_Post-Apocalyptum: here comes the sun again. Well, sort of. _

Spike sagged boneless against the wall, sliding down until he hit the floor with his butt.

He sighed and winced at the pain that moving and sighing gave him.

He was lucky he didn’t need breathing: his windpipe was completely crushed, and any intake of air felt like stabbing in his throat. Exhaling felt only slightly better.

He closed his eyes, trying to rest and knowing he wouldn’t manage to. He was so tired, and hurt, and in pain, and, most of all, he was starting to get bored.

For a soul-ridden vampire like himself, mayhem and destruction against hordes of demons were great: a nice way to let out the violence and anger of his vampiric side, but with no complication for his soul. But even his thirst for chaos had a limit, and right now that limit had been reached.

He needed a break, and not only because he was in desperate need to heal. He needed to feed on human blood, and plenty of it, to restore his energies. Funny, but in a demonic apocalypse there weren’t many humans strolling about, and he couldn’t really ask Harmony for a cuppa.

A tiny smile slithered up to his lips: that bitch had been insufferable, and she’d deserved the death she got, but he probably should have handed to her: the betraying move was a classic, but you had to make it right. And she had: even Angel had been surprised.

Of course, she was never smart, and she had completely failed to realize that in a demonic apocalypse she would never survive day 1, but, whatever.

He coughed and winced at the pain, wiping blood from his mouth. Damn, but it hurt… of course, it was better than being dead. At least he could still bring down some big bad bastard, while he was still not-really-alive and kicking.

He tried remembering if burning alive to defeat the First had hurt this much. It had probably been worse, but he hadn’t died in the end, not even then, had he?

He smirked and tried to man up through the pain of another coughing fit.

He must have had internal bleeding in his lungs.Oh joy, he was going to cough up a lot more of blood, and each time the pain was a terrible reminder he was still on this earth... At least the broken bones had already mended. In this way, he could still face any adversary that would eventually show up.

He pushed down the memory of the last time he’d fed. No need to think about what would certainly trigger his hunger: it was probably only because of the pain that he hadn’t started feeling it yet. But, alas, the traitor memory of Gun’s dying eyes, when he told both Spike and Angel to find good use to his dying body, when he’d offered them his blood, since he was already dying…

Damned the boy for dying. And for tasting so fucking good, too. And for getting himself killed on barely the second day.

Damned the Watcher too, for getting himself killed before the apocalypse had even started, and damn him for giving Illyria a reason to die for, instead of giving her a way to retrieve her power.

Ten long days before, the apocalypse had set off at Wolfram & Hart HQ.

Fred had already gone, her body taken over by Illyria.

The remaining members of Angel’s gang had divided duties: the Watcher had confronted the Warlock, and won his fight, but also got himself killed.

Guns had bravely showed up to the getting-loose of literal hell, but he had been already wounded. That, coupled with his human nature, hadn’t helped him, and he hadn’t made it past the second day.

On the fourth day, Giles had sent an astral projection explaining to Spike and Angel that he, Wilow and the Slayers’ Gang couldn’t help, because Los Angeles was under a mystical shield that prevented everyone from breaking in. Willow was already trying all she could to destroy it, but apparently not even the strongest witch on earth could speed things up.

Spike and Angel were the only ones left to fight off the forces of Evil. Well, and Illyria, who wasn’t really clear who or what she was fighting for.

They were already on the verge of collapse already, and hadn’t taken the news well, but at least Giles and the Coven of witches had a lot of info they could hep with.

In the end, it was still the two vampires plus former goddess who had to do the dirty work,but it was so much easier, when you had a fucking clue on what to do to kill your opponents, instead of going in blind and learning from painful, personal experience. Intel made it easier, safer and quicker for them to tackle the majority of the monsters out there.

It made it even more easy, safe and quick when Willow, Giles and the Coven managed to restore at least a good chunk of Illyria’s former powers. The goddess had literally combusted under their weight, due to her now human body, but before vanishing she took down nine tenth of the forces of Evil.

In the following days, Spike and Angel had managed to kill almost each of the enemies that were left. On the last day, barely a few hours earlier than the current moment, Willow had managed to shatter the shield, too. The Slayers had stepped in and finished the job for the two exhausted vampires.

All that had led to him, against a wall, trying to breath without injuring himself even more.

Spike felt tired, hurting, and so fed up with all that fighting, that all he was hoping was a very long period of peace. And sleep. And some blood, too.

He felt Angel approach his spot, but he didn’t open his eyes. Buffy was still around, and he didn’t want to risk seeing her at the moment. Facing her, and realizing she had never loved him was… well, it would hurt more than he already was, and, while he had always recognized being a masochist, even he had limits.

His sire slumped on the ground, so close his elbows almost touched Spike’s, and winced in pain, but said nothing.

Bloody brooding ponce, Spike thought, smirking on the inside.

Despite common expectations, Spike’s biggest problem with his current predicament was not, in fact, his crushed throat, or the internal bleeding in his lungs, which made him cough and spit blood every two minutes. It wasn’t even knowing that very soon he would have had to face Buffy.

No: his current nightmare was that Buffy hadn’t come alone. Bloody Andrew, with his hero-worshipping crush on him, was here, too.

Spike had to hand it to him: the boy could now do some pretty bad-ass tricks with magic, but he was still a nerd, pretending to be cool. Which he was probably genetically not able to ever become.

Anyway, learning cool magics hadn’t improved Andrew’s condition. He was still the same loser.

At least he hadn’t tried to bear-hug Spike like in Rome, or cried on his shoulder or done anything just as embarrassing, a repeat of their terrible last encounter in Italy. It’s hard for the vampire to admit what had been more embarrassing: that he had kind of been touched by Andrew’s embarrassing display of affection, or that had occurred in front of his sire.

His very judging, very smirking sire. Who might have looked at Spike with barely repressed laughter when Andrew had crying revealed he spoke to his therapist about Spike.

What was he’d said? ‘He’s home now, Frodo’ Gee.

Even the memory made Spike feel like dying of shame.

“Spike!”

Oh, come on! Couldn’t a guy get some rest after basically bringing an apocalypse down? 

Spike winced and scowled, lifting an eye open just to direct the frown towards Andrew… and seeing the human boy hurrying in his direction, with a giant blood bag that smelled heavenly – good God, but that was human blood!

Spike felt very close to take back all the bad things he’d flown against the sucker, and considered talking despite the pain to thank him. However he couldn’t utter much, seen the state of his throat, and settled for a grate look.

“Spike, oh my god, Oh, Em, Gee, don’t leave me, come on, come on, I’m not ready for you to die on me again, please God don’t take him” Andrew was rambling.

Spike forced himself to ignore it, in order not to change his mind about taking his insults back. Andrew knelt at his side and brought the tip of a straw-tube to the vamp’s lips, extremely helpful and considerate.

If only he hadn’t been crying and very loudly praying some deities not to take Spike away and please Spike don’t follow the light.

Spike, from his side, kept from sighing in exasperation, especially while Andrew was making sure that the tube connecting to the blood bag was uncurled, no bubbles had formed in the blood, and that the hold of Spike’s lips on the straw was secured.

“Can you drink like this? Giles said the suction might hurt with an injured throat...”

“It will” Angel confirmed, croaking from Spike’s side.

Spike gave an experimental suck on the straw anyway, if only just in spite of his sire, and Hell, yes, fucking fucking hell, it hurt.

He needed to try to swallow the mouthful of heavenly smelling blood, but it was going to be a torture…

Andrew cursed and muttered some more, but Spike focused more on the sounds coming from Angel, the ruffling and shifting of limbs and clothes, his sire creeping closer to him.

And then he smelled it, the unmistakable scent of Angel’s freely given blood, and he recognized a strong wrist being placed in front of his parted lips.

His fangs slipped out without him even realizing, and Angel tipped Spike’s head backwards, smearing his blood on Spike’s lips.

Oh, god, but this was embarrassing and fantastic, the scent and smell and taste a temptation too big for Spike to care about the moans he might be letting out…

"Come on, boy” came Angel’s annoying voice, coaxing him, and damn, Spike could guess his smirk: “use your tongue”

Spike opened an eye again, just to try and convey all the hate he felt for his sire in that incinerating stare, and cursing his tired body for not having the strength to at least flip the bird to Angel, but then swiped his tongue on Angel’s bleeding wrist anyway.

Damn, fuck, damn, but Angel’s blood was… divine, if the definition wasn’t too blasphemous.

He focused on lapping as much of that nectar, and managed to swallow some without feeling the burning pain he’d experienced at his previous attempt.

As soon as his sire’s blood was past his throat, he could feel it working on his tired body, making all his healing kick in, boosting the process.

In a couple of minutes he was able to go back to the straw Andrew still held, and sucked on it, feeding on the bagged blood Andrew had brought to him.

Angel sat back close to him, and watched him swallow blood, Andrew reverently, and uselessly, holding the straw to his lips with one hand, and with the other holding the bag from the floor.

After he’d drained half the bag, he stopped and made a very satisfied humming sound: he’d probably drunk so many liters of blood, as many as he could get from drying two grown up men out. Ah, heaven.

“I’m done” he croaked, his voice still raspy, despite the throat almost healed.

Andrew took the straw from his mouth but asked if he was sure. He pointed out that he would need to drink the rest of it as well, to heal properly. The boy’s tendency to mother-hen him was, at the same time, endearing and annoying, but Spike didn’t comment on that.

He shook his head and snorted: “I’m fine, boy. Sire’s blood is enough”

Andrew made a small ‘oh’ sound that didn’t really covered his disappointment, probably at knowing he hadn’t been the only one responsible for Spike’s rescue, and Spike smiled at him. The boy was an idiot, but he was cute, come on. He deserved some gratitude. Now.

“Thanks anyway” he said.

Andrew beamed at him, then stood and offered the rest of the bag to Angel.

“There is actually another one, full, if you want that”

Angel nodded at that, and Andrew moved to bring away with him the half emptied bag, but Angel raised an hand and beckoned him closer.

“Leave this one, too. I’ll finish it. Can’t drink from my own sire, myself, you know?”

Spike chuckled at that. Andrew nodded and gave Angel the bag, hurrying away only after casting another anxious look in Spike’s direction.

“He’s really got it bad for you, uh?” Angel commented, smirking around the straw.

Spike snorted, but smiled. “He’s dumb, but he’s a good kid” he drawled, closing his eyes again and resting.

 

Having Andrew around felt weird. The boy kept fussing Spike even when the other tried to pretend he was asleep, or resting, or blatantly ignored him. Still, it wasn’t entirly unpleasant: it was obvious he was just trying to help, and Spike could do with some love, in that sense.

Of course, he was such a loser that he couldn’t help embarrassing himself, and hence some of that embarrassment reflected on Spike, too, but, well. Spike tried not to focus on that.

It was always better than the look that Faith was giving him, this, ‘are we going to fuck or not’ kind of stare, that made Spike almost feel guilty.

And it surely was better than Xander’s plain contempt. The guy had never forgiven Spike for sleeping with his girlfriend, or maybe it was that time he’d tried to jump Buffy.

Man, he didn’t really need to despise Spike for that one: Spike was already floating in self-hate for that one, so Xandy-Boy could go fuck himself.

It turned out that Andrew’s fussing was, in fact, better even that the perspective of seeing Buffy.

Knowing that she’d never loved him hurt. At least they’d been friends. And amazing fuckbuddies, which was totally more than what Angel could say.

He’d made peace with himself and the fact that he wasn’t the one she loved. Of course, one thing was, as he was used, to see her knowing she didn’t feel for him, and another was seeing her and knowing that she was sleeping with the Immortal. Losing her to Angel was something Spike had kind of learned to do, but, with the Immortal…

Bloody hell.

He winced. With his eyes still closed, he could smell and sense Buffy approaching. And he wasn’t sure he could put up with seeing her, but, he was a sucker for love, wasn’t he?

Buffy hunched down between him and Angel.

She looked calm and in control, her eyes so old and mature, completely far away from the young woman that she still was, and miles farther from the girl she’d once been.

Judging from Angel’s tensing up, his sire had just realized the same.

The Slayer smiled warmly at the both of them. Her eyes were lit up with an affection that had nothing to do with love, and, even if Spike had once been used to it, and should still be, it broke his heart a bit.

Angel, on the other side, had never been used to it, and it was much harder for him than for Spike, to admit that he’d lost his special place in Buffy’s life.

'Friendzoned, pal, that’s the word kids use nowadays' Spike thought, smirking half to himself, half to the Slayer.

She smiled back.

“I’m glad you survived” she said. She looked at Angel, and added: “Both of you”

She wasn’t lying, but the disappointment Angel was feeling was so strong that Spike could have perceived it even with no vampiric sense.

He snorted, inadvertently calling back to himself Buffy’s attention, and she smiled to him, as if they were sharing some private joke. Spike felt confused, wondered if they were on the same page, and was almost going to ask, when she shifted back to Angel.

“I’ll guess you have to look for another job, ow, uh?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Spike snorted again, and she turned back to him again.

“He took some really permanent measures, uh, Spike, to prevent the company to replace him, don’t you think?”

“You should have seen him playing CEO, pet. Went at it like a fish to water”

Buffy chuckled, and smiled warmly at Angel: “I’m glad you’re both out of that place. And that you’ve torn it down. They got what they deserved”

“Got actually even less, now, some of them” Spike joked, and Buffy smiled again.

He looked at her. He’d never thought he would see her again, and he didn’t think he would ever stop loving her. ‘Glowing’, he’d said she was, and here she was still doing the same thing. Like a star, like the brightest one.

And he knew that, for all the love he felt for her, she didn’t love him. he’d made peace with that, he’d had time to come to terms with it, and to learn to love her regardless. It still hurt, yes, but… she’d gone from lover to goddess in his book. He knew he was nowhere good enough for her, and was content with his worshipping from afar.

Ok, it still stung that she felt the Immortal was better than him, but… The thing was, he had had the time to learn that.

He had needed a lot of time, and it had helped, being used to deal with crazy bitches or mad vamps, like Cecily or Drusilla.

Now, Buffy had never been either or, but she had definitely been a difficult person to love. Spike had respected that, and it had all come together with him figuring out that he wasn’t made to be her partner, but he still respected her so much.

For Angel, instead, it must have been more difficult. So much more. He had fallen in love with Buffy when she’d been a girl, the progressively-not-so-innocent-anymore teenager she’d been.

Spike at least had fallen for her when she had already grown into her difficult woman persona…

Spike closed his eyes. It looked like, after being promised Buffy would come back to him, Angel was now being told that she wasn’t going to.

Spike pretended not to be listening to the conversation, but it was difficult. It was Buffy, and, as much as he would have died before admitting it, it was his grandsire, he was bound to care for both.

After what felt like an eternity, Buffy stood again. She addressed both with affectionate warm words, keeping her distance from both the vampires, and left.

They watched her disappear from sight, mingling with the crowd of Slayers, witches and the rest of the gang. They knew she’d left for real when they stopped being able to sense her anymore.

Angel was still broadcasting moodyness all around. Spike could have picked up on it even had he been still human.

He remained silent for a long as he could, then he scoffed, the need to break the tension too high.

“Told you I could handle the dragon better than you”

Angel looked at him with a baffled expression, then a piercing stare, that told Spike his sire had understood what he was doing with that conversation, but he still took the bait.

“Excuse me? How is it handling it better, bleeding and being set on fire?”

“Tch. I had everything under control” Spike lied.

“You don’t even know the meaning of that expression” Angel retorted.

Spike half-smirked, half-smiled.

Ok, maybe he was proud of being reckless. So what. Sue him.

 

It turned out that the apocalypse had really destroyed only half the city.

All that had been under the shield had been reduced to debris, but the Power That Be had decided to partly restore some of it.

Obviously, the restoration hadn’t included Angel’s penthouse or Spike’s apartment, so the two vamps, despite being the heroes who had, almost, single-handledly vanquished the menace of Evil from this world, were kind of left homeless.

And, even with the replenish of blood Andrew had given them, they still needed a place to rest and sleep.

Spike especially, after getting a taste of his sire’s blood, was now feeling the consequences of the power of Angel’s blood running through his veins, and he was literally fighting off sleep; he was getting more and more drowsy every passing hour, to the point he could barely keep his eyes open.

They tried to handle it until the Slayers’ gang disappeared, then they all but collapsed on the curb.

A green-skinned demon appeared like an angel of some god, then, his face lit up with a wet smile, and started cooing at the them in a sweet voice, calling them with the names of various desserts. Lorne led them to his apartment, which had been right outside the shield, and hence was still in perfect conditions.

Angel attempted to thank the empath demon, who, after swearing he would disappear, had come back for him.

He tuned down Angel’s words with a ‘don’t mention it, honey sugary-boo’, and showed them the way to his king sized bed. He covered in his silky sheets and closed the curtains of the giant windows, retreating to his very classy living room.

He went to check on them from time to time, careful not to wake them up.

He opened the door, trying to be extra-careful not to make a single noise, and what he saw almost made him trip on his own feet.

The vampires were sleeping together, bare-chested and, judging from their clothes spread on the floor, stark naked.

Spike was sleeping on Angel’s chest, and Angel was hugging him close with one arm. Their relaxed expressions, the level of ease they seemed to be with each other naked bodies so close one to the other, Spike looking almost innocent and Angel’s protective one-arm hug…

‘Holy Moly’ thought Lorne, realizing he should probably burn that bed, no way he could have had it disinfected enough to salvage it.

Or he could always sell it as a relic, a proof that loves conquers everything in the end.

He smirked and chuckled silently, then closed the door and went back to the kitchen. He needed a Martini to celebrate.

 

Spike woke up slowly. It had always been weird, those rare times he’d waken up close to Angel, or even in bed with him.

“Looks like we survived” Angel muttered. Spike smirked and chuckled.

“Feel like celebrating?” he asked, tilting his head so that Angel could see his wiggling eyebrows.

“In Lorne’s bed? Come on” Angel protested.

Spike noted, he hadn’t refused.

“Wanna christen his shower then?” he suggested, peppering kisses from Angel’s shoulder to his nipple.

“You’re the worst” Angel chastised him with his fond, low chuckle that he used to fake exasperation, especially when he was turned on.

“What can I say, I’ve always been bad” Spike replied, tonguing his sire’s nipple.

Angel stopped him, pressing one hand against his mouth. Whatever hesitation he might have had flew away as soon as he fixed eyes with Spike, and he slid a finger past Spike’s lips. Spike sucked on it, slow and sensual.

They didn’t fuck in Lorne’s bed, nor did they christen his shower, even if they couldn’t manage to persuade the empath demon no sexual activities had been conducted on that bed while they were sleeping in it.

They waited till they left, with the excuse of patrolling.

“Ah!” exclaimed Lorne: “After an apocalypse, I’m sure patrolling is going to be extremely useful” he joked, wiggling eyebrows impressively and fixing himself another cappuccino.

The vamps left and even took quite a long detour, before disappearing inside an alley, where Angel lifted Spike in his arms and pushed him against a wall.

They kissed and touched, and Spike could have sworn he was dead and sent in heaven. Angel dropped to his knees and pushed Spike till he understood and turned around, trying not to shudder or moan or, god bless, cry, while Angel was eating him out, and, fuck, had it been centuries since last time?

He felt so slicked up by Angel’s thoughtful work, that his sire slipped in with almost no resistance from Spike’s side.

Angel fucked him against the wall, and came inside him, and at that point Spike might have been screaming, but, whatever, fuck it, right?

“God fuck the queen!” he screamed while he was starting to come, and Angel swore, still pushing inside him and called him an idiot, and Spike came and laughed and he wondered, after, how did he exactly manage to laugh and come at the same time.

Up in his loft, Lorne was stirring another Martini. He’d moved back to the heavy stuff when he’d realized that, if he angled in a certain way from his kitchen window, he could, in fact, peep on his two favorite vamps in a certain alley.

And he smiled and sipped his drink, thinking about how many had died, how many innocent lives had been lost, and how much those who remained had suffered.

He didn’t know and couldn’t try to understand why the Powers That Be had left him alive, but he was grateful. And he felt even more grateful that they had finally given happiness to Spike and Angel, even if they were still vampires, so much for prophecies.

He missed Fred, and Guns, and Wes. He even missed Illyria and Harmony (and maybe his job, too, which had been loads of fun, despite the horrors it made him witness).

But, at least, those who remained had been given some light, to carry on living in the dark of their lives.


End file.
